Blame Storm
by Queerasil
Summary: Modern Office AU. Ned Stark reluctantly becomes Assistant Director of Kingsland Corporation, and must do battle with clients, employees, and his own friends. Meanwhile, Sansa deals with perverts, pedos, brats, and the normal perils of teenage life. Tyrion is exiled to the mail room, where he meets freaks like him.


***AUTHOR'S NOTE: This has to be the strangest thing I've ever written. This was inspired by Mad Men, The Office, and The IT Crowd. All I can do is offer a brief explanation and hope you enjoy the weirdness that it to come. **

**This isn't really crack. Most of this is pretty canon to the TV show and serious. It's an adaption, basically. An odd adaption, but an adaption nonetheless. **

**Ships you can expect: Sansa/Margaery, Tywin/Olenna, Jaime/Brienne, Arya/Shireen (maybe), Cersei/Jaime, Stannis/Melisandre, and probably many more. **

**Characters in this story: Brienne, Bronn, Ned, Sansa, Arya, Tywin, Tyrion, Shae, Samwell, Olenna, Margaery, Stannis, Shireen, Melisandre, Robert, Cersei, Jaime, Varys, Baelish, and probaly Dany and Drogo later. Also will probably bring in the Greyjoys, Boltons, and Mormonts later. Here's hoping!**

**Please, please enjoy! I wrote this for enjoyment. I sincerely hope you like. :)**

...

There are only a four things that Ned Stark doesn't like:

1. Small spaces. Being in tight, confined quarters makes him feel as if he's about to lose his head. This is very inconvenient, especially when he's nestled between his two sleeping daughters on a four-hour plane ride to somewhere he doesn't want to go.

2. Suits. The almost-choking nature of a necktie makes him very justifiably uncomfortable. Also - as Arya likes to point out - he's not build for fancy clothes. He should be wearing plaid, or tweed, or all black, or something heavy. Starks don't wear three-piece Italian-knockoff suits.

3. New experiences. Sure, when Ned was young, he loved the thrill of a new place. 'Making the Eight' (as Rob so crudely put it), had once been a boyish ambition of his. All that childishness had faded away long ago when he met Cat, of course. She's made him a man - a better man - than he thought possible. Now that she was gone, maybe he could bring himself to try something new again.

4. Liars.

Ned wasn't initially keen on the idea of moving to Westeros. He was even less eager to start working as Assistant Director of Kingsland Corporation. He was downright despondent on the prospect of having Rob as his boss. Sure, Ned was loyal to him, but gods was Rob an idiot.

The first few months of Ned's new 'rule' were tough. He had trouble getting Rob to agree to any changes, and even more trouble getting Cersei and Tywin to agree as well. By the end of the first month, the only thing Ned had been able to change was the color of the soap in the bathroom.

Ned waited patiently in the elevator as it rose 23 floors to The Red Keep. Sansa stood at his side, texting away on her phone. He didn't know who she was texting; she didn't have any friends (that he knew of). Ned cringed at the prospect of a secret boyfriend.

The elevator lurched, and Ned swung his arm out protectively to catch his daughter. Sansa just kind of glared at him and continued texting. Sansa didn't talk to him, not if she could avoid it. She'd been like that ever since her mother died.

"This elevator's going to break some day," Ned said gloomily. "When it does, I don't know if I'll be able to fix it."

To Ned's surprise, Sansa spoke. "Yes you will." Ned looked over at her. Her eyes were still on her phone, but there was the faint trace of a rare smile on her lips.

As Shae led Tyrion through the dingiest section of the company's basement, Tyrion couldn't help realizing how utterly, completely screwed he was.

The basement was cold, and dark, and every sound echoed against the walls like gunfire. It smelled like piss, and it looked like some neglected corner of the shoddiest of the seven hells.

"What the hell am I doing down here?" Tyrion was by no means an intimidating man, but he certainly tried to be.

Shae looked very amused. "You father ordered you be sent down here until you learn your lesson."

"What've I done now?" He honestly didn't know, but he had a pretty good idea it had something to do with alcohol and his mother.

"He didn't say, but he was very, very persuasive." Shae's tone of voice made Tyrion nervous. His father wasn't persuasive; he was demanding.

Shae stopped in front of a something that was either a door or a slightly cleaner part of the wall. "This is where you'll be working."

"Wonderful," he muttered, looking around at the creepy and boring hallway around him. He looked back at Shae, who looked particularly pleased with herself. "Don't tell me you have a hand in this."

"Okay," she smirked. "I won't tell you." Without another word, Shae turned and walked away.

Tyrion sighed as he realizes this is not how he'd ideally planned his life to be. Ideally, he should've started a popular cult centered around tits and wine by now.

Tyrion knocked on the door, and then he realized 'What the hell am I being polite for?' and barged in without waiting for an answer. What he saw when he entered truly frightened him.

Mail. Piles and piles and piles of cream colored, sealed enveloped. He was surrounded by mail. Most of the piles were twice as tall as him. And down the middle of this sea of mail, there was a little part, just wide enough for someone to walk through. He felt a little bit like Moses as he walked through the parted sea of letters.

"Welcome to the Wall," said a deep voice behind him. Tyrion spun around and saw no one there. For a second, he was concerned the mail was speaking to him. Tyrion peered over the smallest pile, and to his relief, he saw a large woman with short blonde hair standing there.

"Brienne." The large woman held out a hand and Tyrion shook it. "You must be Tyrion."

He nodded, "Sadly, yes."

Brienne nodded and started moving towards the back of the room, where there was a small clearing.

There was another man, clad a Star Trek sweater, angrily shoving letters into a shredder. "File this! Sort this! He doesn't even want it! Bastard."

Tyrion sighed, "Ah, I see you're talking about my father. Don't let me interrupt." Tyrion took a seat on the cold ground, much to the surprise of Brienne.

"We can get you a chair," she offered.

Tyrion waved her off. "Oh, please, it's not as if I'm going to get any shorter."

The angry man laughed, but a cold stare from Brienne silenced him.

"Tyrion, this is Sam. Sam, this is Tyrion Lannister." She gritted her teeth as she spoke his last name, which wasn't a good sign.

Sam stuttered, "Oh, oh, I'm sorry, I -"

"It's fine. Insult away. Makes this feel like home." Sam attempted not to laugh and Brienne stared at him as though she'd kill him if he did. "So what'd you lot do to get sent down here?"

"I asked to be sent down here," Brienne said, looking serious as ever. Tyrion raised an eyebrow, and she responded quickly. "Anything to get away from Stannis."

"Stannis?" Tyrion vaguely remembered insulting Stannis once at the company Christmas party. Other than that, he'd fortunately had no interactions with the man. "Mind I ask why?"

"Not at all," Brienne shrugged, leaning against the wall. "Just can't stand the way he talks to his brother, Renly."

"Ah, yes, the time honored art of sibling bashing. I know it well. What about you, Sam? How'd you get banished to the wall?"

Sam looked surprised that someone was paying attention to him. "Tywin asked me what I wanted to do, and I - well I -"

"He told Tywin he wanted to be a wizard," Brienne said flatly.

"I thought it was a joke!"

Tyrion laughed. "Don't worry. I once told my father I wanted to be the god of tits and wine."

Brienne cracked a smile, and Tyrion realized that he was finally surrounded by freaks just like him.


End file.
